“Well,” in a whisper, “he wired a hospital for their best surgical man.”
So the assistant had gone back, frightened. And why?
Several weeks later Barber’s World-famous 3-Ring Show gave a return
exhibition at Belleville. That night I wandered toward the Thornsdale
place.
Again the clouds had banked for a storm, fitful rays of the moon now
and then shifting through, only to be absorbed in mist.
Drawing around in front of the old homestead, looming dark behind the
gloom-shadowed trees, I seated myself on the stump hitching-post. I was
glad that in my coat pocket nestled a neat automatic. Why I lingered
there in front of the quiet old place I do not know. Not a light
glimmered in the house; not a noise issued from its muffled depths.
Then to my ears came a shriek and to my startled gaze a light flared in
the house. I could dimly see that a figure appeared at its open door.
It looked behind it for an instant, then madly bolted toward me.
Upon the wet gravel came the tread of rapidly-moving feet, and the
gate in front of me swung abruptly back. In the hazy reflected light,
I got one look at Dr. Calgroni who, hat and raincoat in his hands,
the muscles of his face quivering, his face deathly pale, emerged and
turned, running madly toward town.
I drew back, automatic in hand, waiting for whatever might follow the
doctor. Nothing happened. Obeying an impulse, I took out after the
fleeing surgeon. Over soggy soil I followed him, around corners, down
Main Street to the depot. I got there in time to see him swing on the
platform of the rear coach of the 9:45 train, bound for New York.
Throbbing with excitement, scarce knowing what I was doing, I made my
way back toward the Thornsdale place. Several blocks away, I caught
a glimpse of a broad-shouldered, thick-set disheveled figure in
breech-clout, running--or, rather, prancing and hopping--toward the
circus grounds. The automatic in my hand, I followed.
A block from the circus grounds, under the street lamp, I saw a figure
on horseback that I recognized as Jason Murdock, evidently bound for
home.
Then, snarling, the Thing I had seen hopped out from behind a tree
trunk, on all fours. Gaining its hind feet, it made a flying leap at
Jason, knocking him from his horse. On the ground they rolled, the
powerful Jason helpless in the Thing’s clutch. Its fingers closed
chokingly about the man’s throat.
I tried to shoot, only to find my gun jammed; tried to shout, and could
not.
At that instant the brass band struck up “There’ll Be A Hot Time In The
Old Town Tonight!” As the quick, dancing strains smote the night air,
the Thing suddenly ceased in the act of strangling Jason, looking
attentively up. There seemed to be a responsive, obedient look on its
horrible countenance. I could see its wild-eyes and bearded face--God!
_It was Simple Will!_
Bounding first on all fours, then half-upright on his feet, the crazed
idiot was making for the show grounds just as the clouds broke in
a downpour. To the rear of the big tent bounded Will, as the crowd
scattered for home.
As if familiar with his surrounding, he made for a side-show tent in
front of which sputtered a gas torch. The crowd, fleeing in the rain,
had in the confusion failed to see the half-wit and myself on the mad
run. But several men were following me, as Will tore aside the entrance
flaps.
Inside, poorly-lighted though it was, I could plainly see the cage of
Mimmie, the female-gorilla. Her trainer turned at the noise of our
entrance, and hastily reached for his knife-pointed pole--but too
late. Uttering a cry, piercing and antagonistic, Will flung himself at
Mimmie’s cage, who, with an answering cry of battle, reached both her
long hairy arms through her cage, clawing and tearing at the fiercely
struggling man on the outside.
The trainer rushed in with his prong, thrusting it at Mimmie. For an
instant she drew back; then several of us quickly pulled Will, bleeding
profusely, back from the enraged animal, who again lurched forward as
though recognizing in Will the reincarnation of her mate, Horace.
Foaming at the mouth, Will sank limply to the floor. From the hue of
the blood, ebbing from the side of his neck, I saw at a glance that he
was done for--Mimmie’s claws had severed his jugular vein.
Among the men who had helped me thrust the poor fellow out of Mimmie’s
reach, was the sheriff of the county.
“What does this mean?” he demanded, grasping my shoulders.
“Follow me!” I cried.
A crowd of excited men, headed by the sheriff and myself, made for the
Thornsdale place. The light still dimly illuminated the hall through
the open door.
“I’ll go in first, sheriff,” I offered. “Have your men surround the
place.”
I stole into the hall. A terrible stench greeted me. I found it came
from a door opening out into the hall. A feeble light burned within.
About me stood several boxes, with the sides torn open, and excelsior
hanging and strewn about them.
Before me, completely assembled in every detail, stood what the
boxes had contained--an operating table and all its many surgical
accessories. Out of a long box in the corner sprawled the hairy limbs
of the fast-decaying Horace, the male gorilla.
Taking a small oil lamp from the stand, I turned to examine the dead
body; and I noticed a paper, which fell to the floor. A quick look at
the side of the beast’s head revealed a great gash, rottening at the
edges, through which, it was evident, the brain had been removed.